


That Ol' Christmas Spirit

by clgfanfic



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-28
Updated: 2012-10-28
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:26:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heyes and the Kid try to find just the right gifts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Ol' Christmas Spirit

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Of Dreams and Schemes #6, then in The Yule Tide #3, and last in Just You, Me and the Governor #24 all under the pen name Lynn Gill.

Kyle grinned as the Kid's brow wrinkled.  He knew the young man was trying to figure out what he could get his cousin for Christmas.  The fact that the Kid's cousin was the infamous bank and train robber, Hannibal Heyes, had no bearing on the fact that Jed "Kid" Curry was without a clue.

"Whatcha ponderin', Kid?" Kyle asked to break the silence.

"Just tryin' to come up with an idea about what to get Heyes for Christmas," he explained.  "It's only a couple weeks off, and I still don't know what to get 'im.  Every time I ask, he says there ain't nothin' he wants.  I think he's still mad at me over that fight last month."

"Well, I know that's a pure-de lie," Kyle said, watching the Kid's face.  "About him not wantin' anything, that is.  He did get awful worked up over that fight."

"You know something Heyes wants for Christmas?"

"Well now, he ain't come right out and told me he wants it, mind you, but I heard 'im jawin' 'bout it a few times," Kyle said, scanning the horizon from Deadline Point.  For all intents and purposes he appeared to be looking for any signs of intruders trying to sneak into Devil's Hole, but he was really watching the Kid from the corner of his eye, wondering how long it would take him to ask.

"Well?" Curry finally said.

"Well, what?"

"Well, are you goin' to tell what it was?" the Kid asked, his exasperation rising.

"Oh, yeah!  Sure thing, Kid," Kyle said, waving as he spotted Lobo and Wheat coming to relieve them.  "He's been complainin' about that book o' his, you know, the one with all them purty poems?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, he's been complainin' that the cover's near worn away t' dust.  That'd be a right nice gift, don't y' think?  A new cover?"

The Kid waved as Lobo and Wheat drew closer, then asked, "You think they sell just covers, without the book?"

"I don't rightly know," Kyle admitted.  "Never owned one or t' other."

"Heyes would know, but I can't ask _him_.  I don't think I could find the whole book anyway.  It was his ma's before she died.  That was the only thing he took when we left home."

"Sounds like a real problem, Kid," Kyle said, heading for his horse.

"I appreciate it, though," Curry said, heading for his mount as well.  "I'll think on it, see what happens.  That's what Heyes always does when something's botherin' him."

The pair stopped to exchange a few words with their relief, then headed back down to the camp.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Heyes rubbed saddle-soap onto the leather skirt of his saddle with a thoughtful, circular motion.  He'd been spending his time like the Kid, trying to come up with a suitable gift for his cousin.  This being their first Christmas in Devil's Hole with Heyes leading the gang, he wanted it to be a special gift, one that expressed some of the family feelings the gang helped fill for the two young men.  He also wanted it to be a peace offering after the first big blow-up they'd had.

Heyes shook his head in frustration.  Everything he'd come up with would require they get the drop on the Denver mint, or ride to San Francisco to find.  He just thought too big sometimes.  It was a shortcoming of his, one he'd have to work on, but not _too_ hard.  Nothing wrong with wanting the finer things in life.

Cheerful nickers greeted Kyle as he entered the barn and began his turn at dishing out a hatful of grain for the horses that stood waiting in their stalls.  He moved down the line, depositing the sweet grain into the buckets that hung there for each animal, pausing to speak to each of the mounts and scratching under the forelocks of his favorites.

When he was through he joined Heyes, saying, "You sure is quiet, Heyes.  Feelin' poorly?"

"Naw," the outlaw leader said, laying the soaped rag aside.  "Just busy thinkin'."

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout?" Kyle asked, his eyes lighting up.  "Our next job?"

Heyes shook his head.  "I was just sittin' here, tryin' to come up with a plan on what to get the Kid for Christmas, but I'm not havin' much luck."

"That's too bad.  Christmas is comin' up right quick."

"I know," Heyes said.  "He hasn't mentioned anything to you, has he?"

"Well," Kyle said, drawing the word out as if he was considering if he should really be confiding in the dark-haired man.

"Well, has he?"

"Not in so many words now, mind you, but he's been sort o' droppin' hints here and there on one particular nugget."

"And, what would that be?"

"Well now, Heyes, don't rightly know if I should say.  I mean, he ain't said that's what he wants, and I have'ta keep an eye out for something myself, and—"

"Kyle," Heyes said, his voice assuming a tone of authority, "who's in charge of this here gang?"

"Why you are, o' course."

"And, as leader, am I entitled to answers to the questions I ask my men?"

"Well, sure you are, Heyes, but–"

"And didn't I just ask you a question?"

"Yeah, but—"

"So don't you have a duty, an _obligation_ , to answer that question, Kyle?"

"I reckon so," the outlaw conceded slowly, looking down at the saddle and wondering how Heyes had maneuvered that so easily.  "I heard 'im come as close as he can, without actually sayin' it straight out, that he'd like a holster to go with that fancy gun you got him for his birthday."

"A holster?  Now why didn't I think of that?" Heyes asked himself aloud, a smile spreading across his face.

"I was thinkin' of gettin' that for the Kid myself," Kyle said sadly.

Heyes rose and laid a hand on the blond man's shoulder.  "Now, don't you think I should get the Kid something he really wants, seein' as how we're kin?"

"You're probably right, Heyes, you always are," he said, accepting the logic, even if he couldn't follow it.  "But what am I gonna get the Kid?"

"How about some sugar rocks?  You know how he loves candy."

Kyle's eyes brightened.  "That's a right good idee, Heyes.  And a whole lot cheaper than a hand-tooled holster.  Come Christmas I'll be lucky if t' rest t' boys ain't buyin' presents with money I lost playin' poker with 'em."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Curry stood outside the mercantile store and stared at the reflection of the sheriff as he passed by on the opposite side of the street.  Curry knew that Lom Trevors would have no qualms about arresting him, flat out, if he caught him in town.  The fact the Lom had once been an outlaw wouldn't buy the Kid any favors, nor would the fact that he and Heyes had avoided the Porterville bank all this time.  The fact that they'd once been friends might make him feel a little sorry about doing it, but it wouldn't stop him, of that the Kid was sure.

Curry waited until Kyle gave him a thumbs-up, indicating that Lom had entered his office, before he left the street and entered the store.  The shopkeeper looked up at him and smiled.  He had good reason to smile; Christmas was his busiest time of the year, and this year's business was already better than the entire last year.

"Can I help you with something, son?"

"Well, I have this book here," the Kid began by way of an explanation, pulling the worn volume of poetry from inside his jacket and handing it to the man.  "I was wondering if I could get a new cover for that."

The man turned the book over in his hands, amazed at the good condition the text was still in, and yet so obviously well read.  Whoever owned the book treasured a fine poem.  "You're in luck, son," the man said, reluctantly handing it back.  "My brother-in-law's the saddler and he does that kind of work on the side.  I can have him make you up one, special, but it'll cost you."

The Kid frowned.  "How much?"

"Work like that isn't cheap, I'm afraid, but I admire a good book and I admire a man who enjoys one even more.  Is this for yourself?"

"No," the Kid said, his hopes falling.  "It's for my cousin.  This was his ma's.  She was killed, and this here book's all he has to remind him of her.  I thought it'd be a good Christmas present if I could get a new cover for it."

The shopkeeper studied the young man – his story sounded sincere.  "Well, do you have something you could trade for it?"

"Like what?"

"Like a horse, or a rifle, say."

Curry frowned again, then brightened.  "I have this," he said and carefully removed the new revolver Heyes had given him for his birthday, holding it out to the man.

"This would be just fine, son.  My brother-in-law's a collector of rifles and handguns.  I'm sure this would be just fine."

"I give you the gun and you'll have the cover made?"

"That's right.  You come back in two weeks and it'll be ready just in time for Christmas."

The Kid looked down fondly at the gun.  It was the best one he had ever owned, and it was a gift from Heyes – for that reason alone it meant more than a normal gun would have, but he didn't have the money, and he wanted to get his cousin something he'd really like.

"All right, I'll be back in two weeks."

"Done."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"That's a real shame about the gun, Kid," Kyle said as he and Curry rode back to Devil's Hole.

"I know, but that's the only thing I can get Heyes that he really wants, so I had to do it.  You swear you won't say a word about this to anyone," he said, the threat evident in his voice.

"Indians or wild horses couldn't get it out of me, Kid."

"Ain't Indians or wild horses I'm worried about, it's whiskey and Hannibal Heyes."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Heyes leaned against the side of the livery and watched as Kyle gave him a thumbs-up.  Lom was in his office.  He quickly headed off down the street until he found the saddler and disappeared inside.  The man who sat, carving on a new saddle tree was very large, but his short, thick fingers worked the wood gently.

"Can I help you?" the man asked, looking up from the work.

"I was hoping I could order a holster made.  It's for my cousin, for Christmas," Heyes explained.

"Well, I've already got some special orders, and only a little over two weeks to do them all in.  I don't think I'd have time for a holster."

Heyes sighed; the one thing Kid wanted and he wasn't going to be able to get it.  The man watched the outlaw's expression shift and smiled at the young dark-haired man.  The gift obviously meant a great deal to him. 

"Tell you what, if you could pay me a little extra, maybe I could stay up a couple a nights and get it done."

Heyes brightened, but sobered as quickly.  "Well, to tell you the truth, sir, I don't know if I can afford the regular price."

"A holster runs five dollars and with the rush, I'd have to charge you double – in case I don't get something else done."

Heyes frowned; he really wanted to get the Kid something he wanted for Christmas, but unless they hit the bank here in town it didn't look like he'd be able to.

"Do you have anything to trade?" the man asked, seeing the look.

"I don't own a thing except my horse, saddle and a book of poetry," Heyes admitted sadly.

"What kind of book did you say?" the man asked, leaning forward.

"I have a book of poems.  It belonged to my mother," Heyes said, realizing the man was interested – but that book was the only link he had left with his folks.  He _couldn't_ give it up.

"My brother-in-law, he collects books.  Me, I collect guns myself, but Henry, he loves to read, and my sister loves it when he reads that stuff to her.  If you toss in the book, I'll do it for five dollars and guarantee it'll be done on time.  I've been lookin' for something to get Frank and that fits the bill perfectly."

"I really don't think I could," Heyes said, torn.  The Kid was important to him, very important, and after that fight they'd had a few weeks ago it would be nice to use the holster to get back on his good side.  Besides, the Kid was family too – the only family he had left.

Heyes nodded.  "All right.  I'll pay you the five now and bring the book in when I pick up the holster."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Gee, Heyes," Kyle said, feeling slightly sick in his guts, "you mean ya had t' give 'im your book t' get that holster?"

"Yep," Heyes said.  "But don't you say a word to the Kid about it, Kyle, or you'll be lookin' for a new gang to ride with.  Understand?"

"Wouldn't think of sayin' a thing to the Kid.  You should know me better than that."

"I do, Kyle.  That's why I told ya."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The men of Devil's Hole sat around the small pine tree Kyle had cut down and brought into the cantina.  It was rather lopsided and the branches spaced a little too far apart, but it didn't seem to matter.  The men had all hung what they could find, or devise, on it, and as far as they were concerned it was the most beautiful tree they'd ever seen.

Wheat had tied several bullets in a line with some string and draped it around the top of the tree.  Lobo had cut up the last remains of an old red blanket, tying little red bows all over the branches.  Kyle had taken it upon himself to steal one of the metal pans they called plates, and punched out a crooked star, which he tied to the topmost branch with some twine.  The Kid had tied on some pine cones, and Heyes had found some popcorn somewhere to make chains that they wrapped around the tiny tree.

Various packages sat under the adorned pine, tied up in newspaper, wrapping paper, grain sacks and spare blankets.  One gift was stuffed into an old sock.  The men sat, listening to Heyes as he read the Christmas story out of a copy of the Bible someone had stolen from the church in Spring Fork.  They all knew that once he was finished they'd get to open the presents.

They reminded Heyes of a bunch of kids as he read, but then, most of them were under twenty-five – why, he was only twenty-two himself, and the Kid just twenty.  Most of the men hadn't had normal childhoods and a Christmas with anyone who felt like family was a special occasion to them.  Heyes finished the story and closed the worn leather cover of the Bible, wishing he still had his book of poetry.  His mother had always read a few of the poems in there at Christmas time, but he had given the book to the saddler two days ago when he picked up the holster, which now sat wrapped in a grain bag under the tree.

Heyes looked at the Kid and saw him eyeing the presents and smiled.  "Well, boys," he said, "I guess it's about time we open those, don't you think?"

A chorus of positive replies greeted the suggestion and he gestured to the tree with a wave of his hand.  Hands reached for various gifts, which were then distributed around.  The general furor continued as the men opened the gifts.

Heyes had managed to get everyone a cigar, a pair of socks, and several pieces of rock candy.  Curry had followed a similar pattern, buying them all licorice and a bottle of good whiskey they could share, which livened up the party considerably.

Heyes and Curry found everything from bullets to long johns bestowed on them.  Heyes was happily thumbing through a new deck of cards while the Kid looked down at the old sock Kyle had handed him proudly.

Curry shrugged and reached in.  He removed a handful of little chocolate candies, somewhat melted and coated with bits of fuzz.  He looked up at Heyes, "Want a bite?"

"Naw, thanks, Kid, I'm swearing off the stuff."

When all the presents were opened, and the men engaged with their new treasures, Heyes called his younger cousin aside.

"You sure you don't want a bite?" the Kid asked, holding out the cleaned chocolate.

Heyes thought about it, shrugged, and took one.  Placing the sweet candy in his mouth, he forced himself to forget where it had come from.  "Thanks," he said, then held out the grain bag.  "Merry Christmas, Kid."

Curry set the candy down and took the sack.  He pulled a newspaper-wrapped package out of his jacket, saying, "Merry Christmas, Heyes."

The pair opened their gifts, stealing glances at each other as they did.

Heyes held the new, finely engraved book cover in his hands, turning it over slowly, like it was some fine jewel.  He swallowed hard and whispered, "Thanks, Kid."

Curry was holding the equally fine-tooled holster and staring at the empty space that waited for the gun he had traded for the book cover.  "Welcome," he whispered back.

Heyes looked up and began to speak at the same time as the Kid launched into his own speech.  They both fell silent.

"You first," Heyes said.

"I really like this, Heyes, I mean, it's the most beautiful holster I've ever seen, but–"

"What?" he asked, afraid that Kyle had been wrong about his wanting it.

"Well, I– I…"

"Come on Kid, if you don't like it, you can tell me."

"Naw, it ain't that, Heyes."  Curry took a deep breath and blurted without stopping, "I had to trade the gun to get that book cover made for you."

"What?" Heyes asked, nearly speechless.  "Ah, Kid, you shouldn't've done that."

"Maybe, but I wanted to get you somethin' you really wanted for Christmas, and Kyle told me you was talkin' about needin' a new cover for your book."

Heyes sighed.  "Well, he was right.  Only, I traded the book to get the holster made for you."

"Heyes, how could you do that?  That was your ma's and–"

"You're family too, you know," Heyes interrupted.  "Besides, Kyle told me that's what you wanted, and I wanted to get you something you'd really like, too."

The Kid stood, watching his cousin.  "What do we do now?  You don't have a book to put in the book cover, and I don't have a gun to put in the holster."

"Maybe you could go trade 'em back?" came Kyle's voice from behind them.

The two men turned, their intent evident.

"Now just a danged minute, Heyes, Kid.  You two both made me swear not t' say a word 'bout all this wheelin' and dealin'.  And I keep my word – less o' course I get drunk, or someone threatens t' beat it outta me.  But this time I did."

Heyes sighed.  "He's right; I made him promise not to say anything."

"Me, too," the Kid concurred.

"Maybe he's right, too.  Maybe we can take the holster back and get the book back and take the cover back and get the gun back."

"You think that'll work?" the Kid asked.

"Don't know, but it's worth a try.  What do you think?"

The Kid nodded.  "I think I'd rather you have that book of poems than me have this holster."

"And I'd rather have a worn cover than you not have that gun."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"I can't believe it!  Who'd buy that book?" the Kid asked as he and Heyes walked slowly back toward the livery, their boots sinking into the deep snow that covered the street.  Curry was still carrying his holster and Heyes his book cover.  There was no one else out, everyone warm at home, enjoying Christmas Day with family and friends.

"I don't know, Kid.  Your gun gettin' bought don't surprise me much, but I didn't think there be many people 'round here who'd like poetry."

"I thought you was the only one," the Kid agreed.

Heyes scowled sourly.  "Thanks."

At the livery they found their horses standing side by side, trying to stay warm as a fine powder continued to fall.

"Hey, Kid, take a look at that," Heyes said, nodding to a pair of sacks hanging, suspended by a piece of string to the saddle horn of each saddle.

"Whatcha think's goin' on?"

"Don't know, Kid, but I say we hightail it outta town before our luck takes a further turn for the bad."

"Good idea, Heyes," Curry said as he swung into the saddle.  Reaching down, he untied the twine that held the sack to the saddle horn and peered inside.  "I'll be damned."  He reached in and pulled out the revolver he'd traded for the book cover.

Heyes' eyes widened and he reached up and removed the sack hanging on his own saddle.  Opening it, he smiled and carefully reached in to remove the worn copy of his mother's poetry book.

The Kid smiled, blinking back the tears that filled his eyes.  Heyes did the same.

A piece of paper peeked out from behind the worn cover of the book and Heyes opened it, removing the folded sheet.  Placing the book safely in his jacket pocket, he swung up into the saddle, then opened the paper, reading aloud to the Kid: "Merry Christmas, boys.  I hope you enjoy it.  But if I catch you shopping in my town next year, I'm going to throw you both in jail and collect myself a fine Christmas present worth five thousand dollars.  Now, get the hell out of my town.  And stay out!"  He grinned at his cousin.  "It's signed, Lom Trevors."

The Kid laughed, but his eyes were still full of unshed tears.  "I think we better do what he said, Heyes."

"I think you're right," his partner responded.  "But maybe we oughta ride out of town by way of the sheriff's office – say thank you all proper like."

"You think that's a good idea?"

"No, but it'll serve him right."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Sheriff Lom Trevors leaned back against the door to his office, hat pulled down low across his eyes so he couldn't see the slow-moving riders he heard approaching from down the street.  He's known Heyes wouldn't be able to leave town without saying thank you, but if he had to watch them ride past, his new sense of duty might just force him to try arresting them, and he didn't want to ruin their Christmas Day, or his.  After all, they had been friends and Heyes and Curry had stayed clear of Porterville since he'd been made sheriff – except for this shopping trip.

Besides, he liked the boys.

"Merry Christmas, Sheriff," came Heyes' smooth voice.

Lom grimaced.  He _was_ a sheriff and they were two of the most wanted men in the west.  He reached up and slowly raised the brim of his hat, watching them pass by, smiling.  The Kid tipping his hat and Heyes touched a finger to the brim of the one he wore.  The lawman stood and took a step toward the street.

The two outlaws kicked their horses into gallops, disappearing down the snow-covered street.

"Merry Christmas, boys," Trevors said under his breath as he shook his head, heading back to the warmth of his office.

 

The End


End file.
